


Lost For You

by BakerKeen



Series: Let Me Count the Ways [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angelo Ships It, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Nervous Sherlock, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6023305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerKeen/pseuds/BakerKeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John <em>finally</em> gets comfortable with the idea of bottoming, and decides to let Sherlock take the plunge on Valentine's Day. Sherlock is adorably nervous. Fluff and smut!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The series finale! I hope you enjoy! :)

It was ridiculous for John to want to commemorate a holiday about love; as far as Sherlock was concerned, every day he spent with John was worth commemoration. Angelo had fussed and led them to their table and poured them glasses of chianti, insisting that it paired best with the Valentine’s menu. Every seat in the small restaurant was filled, couples smiling happily and taking appreciative bites of their pasta and seafood. Two tables over, a banker in his late twenties was nervously waiting for the dessert to arrive along with the engagement ring he’d had Angelo drop in a glass of champagne. Sherlock sniffed disdainfully at the man’s lack of creativity and turned back to John, who was smiling at him with a dangerous, don’t-fuck-up-our-evening glint in his eye.  


They worked their way through the courses, debating whether their favorite course had been the spinach and ricotta gnocchi or the shellfish stew and placing wagers on whether the woman two tables over was going to notice the ring in her flute before swallowing it with a mouthful of Moet. They were giggling quietly at the man, who was actually sweating with nerves, when someone finally recognized them. Sherlock sat up, making his body language more neutral. John looked at him in confusion and Sherlock slid his eyes to where the woman who’d spotted them was surreptitiously retrieving her phone from her purse. Eyes dancing, John speared a bite of the raspberry-white chocolate art in front of him and fed it to Sherlock.  


Warmth spread through Sherlock’s whole body and he smiled a small, pleased smile as he reached his hand across the small table to clasp John’s. It’s not as though they had ever hidden, but John had always been particular about maintaining their privacy. He spared a glance for the woman with the phone; she was texting furiously, no doubt tweeting out a picture. His small, pleased smile grew into a large, proud one. “You do surprise me,” he murmured, squeezing John’s hand in silent thanks. 

Smiling fondly, John squeezed back. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

Sherlock lifted a teasing eyebrow. “That was your Valentine’s gift to me? You predicted a random person would recognize us and tweet out a picture of you feeding me dessert?”

John’s smile turned teasing. “Actually, I _did_ consider whether we might be spotted. Why else would I take you to Angelo’s on Valentine’s Day?”

“And this whole time, I thought it was simply about the pleasure of my company.”

“Oh, the pleasure of my _company_ is your other Valentine’s Day gift. I’ll let you open me up back at the flat.” John took a sip of his chianti, smirking over his glass and looking incredibly pleased with himself. Or at least, Sherlock was fairly certain that’s what happened; his brain had momentarily shut down. At any rate, when he rebooted, John was looking downright smug and nodding at his glass. “Why don’t you take a drink, love?” Sherlock emptied the last of his wine and Angelo brought over the bottle, asking if he wanted another glass. 

“Yes,” they answered in unison, rather more urgently than was appropriate. Angelo merely filled their glasses, a knowing smile playing on his lips. 

Sherlock downed half of his new glass with a series of quick sips. John smiled at him. “Do you ever get the feeling that Angelo understands us better than we do? He had us figured out the first time he laid eyes on me. It’s like he has some special John-and-Sherlock superpower.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed. “He does seem to be unusually attuned to us. Let’s hope Mycroft never discovers his gift.” 

The woman two tables over spat the engagement ring into her hand, her face moving from alarm and disgust to shock and joy. The man got down on one knee, she said yes before he even had the question properly out, and the restaurant applauded as they embraced. John tapped a fork on his wine glass, his face open in a fond smile, and soon the whole restaurant was filled with tinkling music. The bride-to-be blushed, giggling, but let her new fiancé kiss her to scattered applause and cheers. 

Sherlock sipped his wine more slowly, the the knot of anxiety and anticipation in his chest gradually loosening. "Why did you do that?" 

John shrugged. "They seemed a bit shy about snogging with everyone watching, but they were practically vibrating with the effort of holding it in." He chuckled. "Figured I'd give them an excuse. Least I could do, since she just won me the right to pick our next movie at the cinema. _Again._ " 

Sherlock let his jaw drop in false indignation. "Don't be absurd. You said she would swallow it. I said she would find it, and she did." 

By the time he finished his wine, Sherlock was feeling relaxed and loose-limbed. John’s glass wasn’t half gone, but he nodded at Sherlock and circled to help pull out his chair. Angelo waved off their attempts to pay, and they stepped out into the night. 

Sherlock didn’t often drink, and he didn’t realize until they started walking just how much the third glass of wine had affected him. He focused on walking and articulating precisely as they bantered about who had won the wager, although John’s knowing look made him think he wasn’t entirely fooled. They waited at a crosswalk for the light to change, and Sherlock turned to look into John’s eyes. “Tonight? You’re sure?”

John answered immediately. “Absolutely.” 

Sherlock searched his face, and saw only a hint of nervousness around his eyes. He frowned. “This isn’t a concession to this idiotic holiday, is it?”

John laughed. “It’s not idiotic! And no, of course not. I’m just … ready. The date is pure serendipity.”

They were quiet the rest of the short walk home, but Sherlock’s mind raced the entire way. One part of him was very much looking forward to the evening, of course, but most of him was fighting a battle against anxiety. What if he hurt John? What if he was _bored_ John? What if John tried bottoming and realized what a massive mistake he’d made? What if he had another huge sexuality crisis and left him? 

John squeezed his hand, leading him up the stairs to 221b, and pulled him inside. “You’re quiet,” he commented blandly, divesting Sherlock of his coat as he kicked off his shoes. Sherlock did the same as John hung up his own coat before taking him by the hand and leading him to the bedroom. “I can practically hear the wheels spinning,” he murmured, tugging him closer by the shirt. “Why don’t we see if I can quiet down that giant brain of yours a bit?”


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock ducked his head as John stood on tiptoe to pull him into a surprisingly soft kiss. He had expected tongues and teeth and fire right off the bat, but John seemed to be content to take things slowly. He pressed soft-lipped kisses to Sherlock’s mouth as he gently stroked his face, rasping a thumb along his stubble, tracing over the shell of his ear, smoothing over his cheekbone. Only after he moved that hand to cradle Sherlock’s head did he tilt in and part his lips. 

Sherlock hummed, feeling a different sort of tension stirring in his belly. John smiled against his mouth, tracing Sherlock’s lips slowly before nipping his lower lip and sucking it for the briefest of moments. Sherlock wondered for a moment if John was perhaps as nervous as he was and was stalling for time, but no; he simply took pride in being a good kisser and enjoyed seeing how worked up he could get Sherlock without putting a hand on him. 

It wasn’t working tonight. Sherlock appreciated the thorough snog John was giving him – he had eventually plunged inside his mouth and was now massaging their tongues together – but it wasn’t leaving him as breathlessly, thoughtlessly aroused as normal. John, who was nearly as shrewd as a consulting detective when it came to deciphering Sherlock’s interest, pulled back, turning his attention to Sherlock’s neck and ears. 

“Making me work for it tonight, eh?” he teased, licking over Sherlock’s carotid. He sucked a kiss there, just a hint of teeth, which usually set Sherlock to making the kinds of noises that used to embarrass him. Tonight, nothing. Switching sides, John nibbled his way down his throat, then licked back up it to catch his mouth in a sloppy kiss. Still nothing. John closed his lips, pecking at his neck once before pulling back and looking up at him in curiosity. “Whatever’s on your mind must be serious,” he said, voice light, still teasing. John pulled him to the bed, crawling in after him. 

“I should t—“

“Ssssh,” John whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. “Hush, gorgeous. Let’s see if I can’t distract you.” He pulled at Sherlock’s shirt buttons, pressing in for kisses now and then but mostly just letting Sherlock the desire in his eyes as more and more of Sherlock’s skin was revealed. He pushed the shirt over Sherlock’s shoulders and tugged it off his arms, discarding it onto the floor. Kissing Sherlock once more, he whispered, “Lie back,” as he pushed gently against his shoulders. 

Sherlock lay back against the pillows, shifting until he was comfortable. John loomed over him, raking his eyes over his bare chest and seeming to make a plan of action. He spread his palms wide over Sherlock’s belly, fingertips squeezing lightly against him as he slowly spread them up his body. “God, you’re gorgeous.” He knelt down, nibbling at Sherlock’s collarbone and humming in satisfaction when Sherlock inhaled sharply. “You know I fantasized about doing exactly this for _months_ before we finally got together,” John admitted between licks and sucks and nips at the bony ridge. “You and those tight, never-fully-buttoned shirts. I saw flashes of your collarbone from time to time and I’d get this really strong urge to mark you there.” 

Sherlock’s breathing kicked up a notch at that. He often marked John like this, and even higher up on his neck where it took some effort to conceal. He loved the idea of there being a secret sign of Sherlock on John’s skin, and enjoyed looking for flashes of bruises and bites when they were in public. John, being more considerate in every conceivable way, was always careful never to mark where anyone could see, much to Sherlock’s chagrin. Making a noise of interested discovery, John sucked a bruise where it would be easy to let everyone see, if he wanted. A breathless sort of moan escaped from Sherlock and John grinned into his skin before soothing the mark with the flat of his tongue. With one last brush of his lips, he moved his mouth down to a dusky nipple. 

His nipples weren’t particularly sensitive, not like John’s, but John had discovered that they responded well to small amounts of rough treatment. He sucked one hard between his lips, grazing it with his teeth before moving to bite and suck at the other one. Sherlock writhed a bit under him, arching his back for more as John kissed his way down the flat planes of his stomach, teasing at skin just under the edge of his trousers before tugging at his belt and reaching for his flies. “Let’s see what we have to work with, shall we?” he said, smirk on his face. 

Sherlock closed his eyes, internally flinching as John opened his trousers and grew still. Sherlock felt his face burning. “Bit too much wine, I think,” he explained, his voice tight. 

John didn’t respond right away. Instead, he crawled back up the bed and lay beside Sherlock, propped up on one elbow. “Sherlock?” 

Sherlock didn’t turn; he was working hard on deep breathing and swallowing the ridiculous tears that were thinking of springing to his eyes. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! You’re being ridiculous._

“Babe,” John said gently. “Look at me.” He searched Sherlock’s face, and saw misery and anxiety shining through his too-bright eyes. He had tried to tell him something earlier, and John had just bowled over him, hadn’t let him speak. _God, I’m an idiot._ John stroked his shoulder, then caressed down his arm to clasp Sherlock’s hand before bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. “Do you not want to try this? Because it’s totally fine if you don’t.”

“I do,” Sherlock insisted, immediately. His body was taut, and he laid statue still. His face warred with itself for a moment before he took a breath and plunged forward. “I’ve always wanted to try.”

It took less than 2 seconds for John to mentally fill in the blanks. “So … you’ve never topped?” His voice was level, his manner casual. 

“No.” Sherlock rolled and looked at the ceiling. “Logically, I know it’s insignificant. I know you think it doesn’t matter, but I’d rather you weren’t the person I was fumbling through it with. I find myself consumed with—”

John seemed to not have heard that; he was sitting up a bit, looking at Sherlock with incredulity. “Hold on. You’ve had sex with … what was the number? 227 men? How is it that you’ve never topped??” 

Sherlock flushed again, and his voice was clipped. “Because I always let them choose. No one wants to exchange drugs for being buggered, it seems.” He zipped up and moved to sit up, to flee, but a strong hand on his arm stopped him. 

J“I’m a fucking idiot, Sherlock, I’m sorry. If I’d thought for a few seconds instead of spouting off the first thing that came into my head, I would’ve realized and not brought it up. All those guys are arseholes, and you are amazing and deserved better.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John just insinuated himself closer, swirling his fingers through Sherlock’s chest hair and nosing at his ear. “Truly. You’re _gorgeous_ ,” he crooned, licking a stripe up his ear. “You give stunningly good blow jobs.” He moved down to his neck, stopping to suck another mark, this time over his pulsepoint. “You rim like a fucking porn star.” He rolled on top of Sherlock, scooting down so he was kissing Sherlock’s belly. “So while I completely sympathize with how distracted everyone has been by your _fantastic_ arse –” John squeezed it for emphasis. “—I am very much looking forward to having you inside me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least one more chapter, possibly two.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides a change in strategy is necessary. And they finally make it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than usual to finish! Life has been busy. :)

John glanced up at Sherlock, checking his face for permission before unzipping his trousers and pulling the lot down his thighs. His prick was starting to show some interest, but John had decided that slow and steady was not going to win the race tonight. Closing his lips around Sherlock, he pulled up slowly, feeling him harden in his mouth as he went. He grasped the base as he got to the tip, looking up at Sherlock as he licked up the last inch or two. He sank back down, repeating the motion, this time following his lips and tongue with the firm slide of his fingers. After five more long, slow pulls, Sherlock was finally fully hard and breathing a bit more deeply than before. 

Pulling off, John stroked a few times and licked a stripe up his erection while he devised a plan to keep Sherlock distracted enough to maintain his arousal. He stood up, smiling reassuringly at Sherlock’s sharp, alarmed eyes, and tugged his jumper off. He worked at the buttons on his shirt, and by the time he had dropped it to the floor, Sherlock at come over to tug at his belt and unfasten John’s too-tight trousers. John sighed with relief when Sherlock released his cock, pushing his trousers and pants to the floor and helping John step out of them. His face was a little more eager now, although John could still sense some anxiety in the tension around his eyes. 

“Lie back,” he suggested. Sherlock lay back on the pillows once more, and then adjusted his position with a small noise of delighted surprise when John crawled up his body, tucked his knees under him and settled his weight high on his chest. Sherlock grasped him firmly and craned his neck to take a few inches into his mouth. John hissed and angled himself so Sherlock could reach better. “Not too much,” he murmured. “Just need to take the … mmmm, just like that, God, your mouth.” He stayed like that for a few minutes, until Sherlock’s clever tongue started to awaken the first stirrings of a climax. He pulled away reluctantly, tracing Sherlock’s wet, reddened lips with his thumb as the tension in his belly trickled away. He pushed forward, guiding himself into Sherlock’s eager mouth for a few more long pulls, and then shifted his weight off of him. 

Careful not to kick Sherlock in the face, he turned to retrieve lube from the bedside stand and tossed it at Sherlock before sitting back down on his chest, this time facing the other way. He tucked his knees under him and leaned forward to grasp Sherlock’s erection. He was just pulling back the foreskin to tongue at the head when he felt Sherlock’s tongue swiping along the inside of his cheek. “ _Oh_.” He felt Sherlock grin as he circled closer and closer to his opening. 

John moaned, and stroked his tongue along Sherlock’s frenulum a few times, keeping his touches light and teasing. He traced a vein along his shaft, keeping it soft and sloppy, spreading saliva everywhere. After swirling around the head of his cock a few times, he sunk down to take Sherlock into his mouth. This elicited a hum, which buzzed just next to his opening, which made him moan around Sherlock’s cock, and the whole moaning cycle repeated itself. 

They forgot about teasing. They forgot about Sherlock’s trepidation. For a long moment, they both even forgot about the end game. Sherlock became completely absorbed in devouring John’s arse and wringing more of those satisfying noises out of him, and John was just as lost in the sensation of sliding his wet lips over Sherlock’s hard cock and grinding his arse against his face. It was _perfect_. John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s slick shaft, letting it follow his mouth until he was only sucking on the head. He stroked fast, groaning against Sherlock’s head as his tongue circled the slit. 

“Mwomp,” Sherlock grunted. He pulled away, panting. “Stop, God, stop, stop right now.” 

John pulled off reluctantly, and Sherlock slowed his movements on his arse, pressing soft, wet kisses and poking his tongue just inside of him. He was desperate for Sherlock’s hand on his prick, but he didn’t dare ask; he was too close as it was. 

Sherlock’s breathing finally slowed, and he pulled his face back with one last kiss to each of John’s cheeks. Sensing that it was safe to resume his attention to Sherlock’s cock, and not wanting him to start thinking again, John pooled salvia at the front of his mouth and sank back down over Sherlock. He didn’t want to bring Sherlock too close to the edge again, so he kept everything soft and wet, sliding almost gently over his cock. 

John heard the snick of a plastic-topped bottle being opened, and then the slight pressure of Sherlock’s fingertip _there_. He wiggled his bum slightly and Sherlock chuckled as he sank the finger further inside him. He was swishing his tongue across the head of Sherlock’s cock when a clever finger brushed over his prostate.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, and all thoughts of taking things slowly were forgotten. Sherlock grew impossibly harder in his mouth as he bobbed over him, taking him down to the root on each pass. The slight stretch of a second finger burned hot inside him, and he pushed into it.

Sherlock’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, buzzing pleasantly against John’s neglected cock. “Mmm, look at you. Eager, are we?” John wasn’t willing to stop sucking him to answer, so he fucked himself on Sherlock’s fingers instead. He was tempted, so tempted, to beg Sherlock to grab his prick; he knew it would only take a few strokes for him to go off like a rocket, and it wouldn’t take much work at all to get Sherlock there, either. But he knew how much better it was going to get, so he pulled reluctantly off of Sherlock’s cock. 

“ _Please_ , Sherlock. God, I need you inside me.” 

Fingers slid out of him, and John crawled off of his chest and turned so he was lying beside him. He was in the middle of pulling Sherlock on top of him when he noticed the tension in his shoulders, the slight set of his jaw, the determined glint in his eye. After pulling him down for a quick, dirty kiss, he murmured in his ear. “Please, Sherlock. I won’t let you hurt me.”

Sherlock uncapped the lube again, tipping enough into his fingers to spread on both himself and John. He rallied his determination. It was silly to be nervous. He had bottomed plenty of times; surely he could draw from his own experiences in figuring out how to be there for John. Lining up, he met John’s eyes and pushed forward. 

John was holding his breath, and his eyes were wide as Sherlock breached him, and then he was panting a bit as the slight, pleasant burn turned into hot-poker discomfort, then shards-of-glass pain. “Sherlock,” he gasped, desperately. 

John was tight, so tight around him, and Sherlock surged forward, his world condensed into the clenching around his prick and John’s wide, blue-brown eyes, which were squinting, grimacing …

“Oh, John, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling out as soon as he realized that John was in pain. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ The problem with drawing from his own experiences was that, of _course_ , all of his previous partners had been bastards who had not given a toss about his comfort, much less his pleasure. This should have been perfectly obvious, naturally, but Sherlock set that aside for now, because he had a new plan: to do the exact opposite of everything that had ever been done to him by everyone else, and to instead emulate John. 

Sherlock leaned down, kissing John’s face and ruffling his hair tenderly. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, smoothing his thumbs over the hot flush that had spread over John’s cheeks. “I was being a bit of a brute.” He raked his eyes over John’s body, searching for data. He was sweating slightly from the pain, but his breathing had settled. His legs were clenched defensively around him and his erection was flagging a bit. “Do you still hurt?”

John shook his head, looking so embarrassed and trepidatious that Sherlock kissed the furrow between his eyebrows before sitting back. “How do you want to continue? We can try again, carefully this time, or do something else entirely.” He stroked through the sparse, light hair on John’s upper leg, waiting as John’s face warred with itself. 

“Let’s try again. Just … slower.”

Nodding, Sherlock reached behind John to snatch a pillow, and John lifted so he could stuff it underneath him. After spreading more lube over himself and John, Sherlock rubbed himself over his opening a few times, and slowly, slowly, gently, gently, he nudged the tip in, watching John’s face carefully for any sign of discomfort. “How’s that feel?”

“A bit weird,” John admitted. “Like I need to use the loo.”

Sherlock chuckled, pressing a kiss to John’s knee. “It gets better, I promise.” He pushed forward fractionally, pausing after every tiny move forward to let John adjust, to check his comfort level. “You’re so _tight_. You’re sure you’re …?”

“…yes, keep going. It gets better?”

 

“It absolutely gets better.” Sherlock pulled back, thrusting shallowly a few times as he opened John up a little more. “Try bearing down against me, it helps.” He held still, feeling John push himself open to draw in more of him. “Easy, John. We’ve got all night.” John’s face was determined and a little bit scared; Sherlock wanted to kiss the worry away but didn’t think it wise to change his position that drastically yet. He wanted to offer to stop, but knew John wouldn’t accept it. 

They continued like this, stopping and starting, soothing and encouraging and promising, until finally, _finally_ , Sherlock bottomed out. He bit his lip, the choking, slippery heat of John all around him. “I know this sounds unlikely, but it’ll be better once I start moving.” John nodded, and Sherlock gently, slowly started to rock a bit inside him. “Alright?”

John nodded again, and Sherlock watched his face as the tension slowly faded, his thighs relaxing out to the sides to let him in deeper. “You feel incredible,” Sherlock murmured, pitching his voice low and gravelly, the way he knew John found most arousing. John was moving now, little involuntary lifts of his hips to meet Sherlock, and his respiration rate had increased. Sherlock pulled back a little further and thrust in, watching John’s face carefully. 

“Mmmmm,” John hummed, closing his eyes. “You’re right, it’s much better.” His voice had gone a bit breathless. “ _More_.” 

Sherlock settled into a rhythm, starting off with slow, long strokes. John hummed his appreciation, rocking back into him. Relaxing, Sherlock considered his plan of attack. Now that John was comfortable, he zeroed in on increasing his pleasure. Bracing his knees firmly, Sherlock thrust roughly into John three times. And oh, but it was _delicious_ , John’s mouth dropping open and choking out a surprised, aroused cry. “Mmm, you like that,” he said, returning to his slow, gentle rhythm for 7 more hip rolls before fucking hard into him twice. 

Sherlock slid his eyes over John’s body, observing his flushed cheeks, his increased respiration, and, most importantly, his renewed erection. He kept his rhythm unpredictable, alternating between slow strokes and rough thrusts at random. Then he stopped, pulling out and smirking at John’s protesting whine. He pushed John’s knees up and to the side, pinning them against his shoulders, then lined up and slid slowly inside John’s welcoming body. 

John’s eyes popped open as Sherlock slowly dragged across his prostate. He couldn’t hide the pleased smile from his face. He hadn’t been sure it would work, only known that the position had done wonders for him once. “Buggering _fuck_!” John rounded his lower back, attempting to hurry Sherlock’s thrusts, but Sherlock wasn’t having it. 

“Patience,” Sherlock purred, teasing admonishment light in his voice. He pushed into John slowly, letting him feel every inch of him sliding over that sweet spot. John was exquisite, mouth open in a helpless pant as Sherlock folded him nearly in half and dragged out his pleasure. John tried to insinuate a hand between them, scrabbling desperately for his prick. “Don’t,” Sherlock commanded. “Not yet.”

Whining needily, John rested his hands instead on Sherlock’s hips, urging him closer, deeper. “More, Sssshhherrr –” His voice dropped off as Sherlock suddenly drove into him, language devolving into a series of grunts and moans and gasps. He writhed under Sherlock, eyes rolled back as he lifted his hips to meet him helplessly. Pleasure was coursing through him, so intense it was nearly painful, and he started to huff out little chuckles and strings of nonsense as he became slightly delirious.

Sherlock looked down, indulging in a long look at his cock disappearing into John’s body before looking up again. He was carefully managing his level of arousal, staving off his orgasm despite being on the knife’s edge. John’s body was hot and tight and welcoming around him, and he was bloody _gorgeous_ right now. The flush, which had started in his face, had moved in splotchy patches down his chest, and his eyes were glassy, unfocused, and often rolled back in his head. Sherlock fucked into him, a bit more roughly, and John groaned, starting up his rambling again. Sherlock doubted he was even aware he was talking. 

“ Amaz—… oh, _fuck_ , that’ss… fucking _Christ_ …Fuck, Sherlock … mmmm…..want you to … _love_ , fucking love …. You … please let … oh, _yessss_ , like that … _please_ , touch my … ”

Leaning forward, Sherlock eased one of John’s knees to rest on his shoulder, and reached between them. John’s eyes popped open and he pumped into Sherlock’s fist with a grateful moan. He quivered and moaned beneath Sherlock, feeling his orgasm build and crash over him, crying out in near-pain as the first convulsion ripped through him. The second wave was pure pleasure, and he arched into it, feeling himself clench around Sherlock as he covered them in long ropes of come. A deep, pleasant buzz filled his body as the last waves crashed over him, and he smiled, laughing lightly as he lifted his hips to Sherlock lazily. 

Sherlock groaned above him, thrusting rough strokes into John’s tight, pulsing body as he chased his own climax. “So good,” he groaned, looking down to watch himself fucking into John. “ _Christ_ , John.” He raked his eyes over the rest of John’s body, lingering on the come that was dripping down his ribs. Moaning loudly, he swore and pumped into John frantically, feeling the orgasm building and then his whole body seized as it rushed through him. After the first, long pulse, Sherlock released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and he moved gently inside John, working himself through it as he gently pushed John’s legs to the side, leaning forward to kiss him sloppily for a moment before pushing himself back up with a contented sigh.

John smiled drunkenly up at him, and Sherlock dropped another kiss to his mouth. John nosed at his ear, kissing at Sherlock’s jaw, and Sherlock huffed a quiet laugh before gently pulling out. John sucked a breath between his teeth, and Sherlock winced. “Sorry,” he murmured, kissing John’s eyebrow. John pushed against him gently, and Sherlock fell to his side, reaching into the bedside stand for a handkerchief and mopping up his and John’s bellies hastily. 

He was just about to ask if John was OK when the man yawned, giggled, and said, “That was fucking intense, Sherlock. What happened to it being _merely one more way to experience pleasure_ , or whatever the hell lie you told me?” John smiled, snatching the handkerchief to wipe lazily at his bottom a few times before tossing it on the floor and rolling to curl up against Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock chuckled, the rumbling vibrations buzzing against John’s face. “Well, it was true with my other partners. I’m discovering that none of my prior experiences are of any use to me at all when it comes to you. It’s different.”

John yawned again. “Is that _sentiment_ I hear in your voice?” He smiled, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s warm skin. 

Sherlock sighed with mock annoyance. “Yes,” he said fondly. “It seems it makes more of a difference than I hypothesized.”

John hummed his amusement, yawned again, and rubbed his face sleepily against Sherlock’s chest once more. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

Sherlock dropped a kiss to John’s head. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally made it! Be sure to let me know what you think. :)


End file.
